


The Best Kind Of High

by orphan_account



Series: The Best Kind Of High [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 03:06:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2566037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan’s in his final year of school and his life hasn’t been exactly ideal. Can his guardian angel save him from the demons in his head and make things even a little bit better?<br/>Angst, highschool!AU, getting together, a little bit of fluff.<br/>Trigger warnings for: depression/mental illness, suicide and character death, and alcohol.<br/>Originally posted on Tumblr for the Phandom Big Bang 2014</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Dan’s first memory comes from when he was five years old. His mum was sat beside him on his bed, telling him a story she had made up, just for him. It was the story of a King, a Queen, a handsome little Prince, and a new baby Princess. The Queen took the little Prince aside, a few days after the baby Princess was born. She asked him to promise that he would love and care for the little Princess, for ever and ever. And even though the little baby Princess may get most of the King and Queen’s attention for the time being, they still loved the little Prince just as much. The little Prince nodded solemnly, promising eagerly to watch over her and protect her._

_When his mum finished the story, Dan asked her if the little prince could, perhaps, be him. She nodded and smiled, telling Dan that in a few short months he would have a little sister, a little Princess._

_"Do you understand what that means, Bear?’_

_Dan nodded his little head. “It means that she’ll be a little baby and I have to be very careful when I hold her. Mrs. Anderson brought her baby to school, and we had to support its head.”_

_Dan’s mum smiled with pride. “I think you will be the perfect little Prince. Yes, you will.” She reached down to pull up Dan’s covers, but Dan wasn’t sleepy yet._

_"Another story, mummy, please?" he whined, clutching his teddy to his chest. "A story with an angel?"_

_Smoothing down the covers, Dan’s mum smiled to herself, thinking. “Oh, alright. Only if you promise to go right to sleep as soon as the story is over.”_

_Dan nodded enthusiastically. “Yes mummy, I promise.”_

_"Alright then." She shuffled closer to Dan, wrapping her arm around his little shoulders._

_“Once upon a time, in a land much like our own, there lived a shoemaker and a seamstress, and they loved each other very much. After they had been married for three years, three wonderful years of shoe-making and seam hemming, they brought forth a son to the world. Their son was the calmest child that had ever been seen, but when he could not be seen, he caused much trouble. When their son was ten years old, he climbed the tree in the front of their yard, and got himself stuck at the very top._

_“The son was scared, but he did not cry. His mother or his father would come and save him, he was sure._

_“When the young boy had been in the tree for what felt like seven days, but was really just half an hour, he began to get scared.”_

_At this point, Dan was holding tightly to his mother’s arm, as she combed her fingers through his messy curls. “Did he get down, mummy? Did the angel come and save him?”_

_Dan’s mother smiled at her bright, inquisitive son. “Be patient, Bear. Let the story tell itself.”_

_Dan nodded, leaning his head into her, and she continued with the story._

_“The shoemaker and seamstress’s son began to get very scared as the sun began to set and the young boy could not seem to find his parents. The son thought about jumping out of the tree, but knew that he could hurt himself very badly, as he was very high up._

_“Just as the son was deciding that jumping was the only way he would ever get out of this very tall tree, someone spoke his name. The young son turned around in the tree to see a beautiful girl with dark hair and bright eyes smiling at him._

_“‘I am an angel,” she said. When she held out her hands, the young son grabbed them immediately, and the angel flew him down from the tree. They landed gracefully at the base of the very tall tree, hands still clutched together._

_“‘Thank you,” said the shoemaker’s son._

_“The angel girl smiled. ‘You are very welcome. My name is Amelia. I am your angel. If ever you should need my assistance, speak my name and I will be before you.”_

_With a rush of beautiful white and gold feathers, Amelia disappeared into the sky, leaving the shoemaker’s son frozen in place, a smile wide on his face. After a few moments staring at the stars in the now dark sky, the young son ran back to his parents’ home._

_“Before too many years passed, the young son became a young man, and this young man was very lonely. He had made no true friends at school, and although the seamstress and the shoemaker loved their son very much, they were very busy, and were not always available when their son was lonely._

_“Through these years, the young man had begun to call for Amelia when he was feeling particularly lonely. She would appear, every single time, and spend as much time with the young man as he wanted. Each time the young man called for Amelia, she would stay for longer and longer periods. By the time the young man had his own home, Amelia was a regular part of his life. She was his best friend, and the young man knew that she would always be there for him. Amelia, as an angel, never changed. Her appearance stayed the same while the young man grew older and changed. Eventually, the young man was no longer young, and, after many more years had passed, he became an old man. The old man was mistaken for Amelia’s father, and eventually her grandfather. Amelia still stayed as his angel, and gave him love and companionship for all his days. While he did face many hardships in his life, Amelia protected and guarded over the old man, and stayed with him until the end of his days. When the old man had only a day left to live, Amelia sat by his bed, holding his hand._

_“‘My dear, I have been beside you for many years. Even after you leave this life, I will follow you into the next world. I will be by your side as long as we both shall exist, for as long as you will have me.’ The old man smiled his last smile, breathed his last breath, and together, Amelia and the old man passed into the next world.”_

_Dan’s mum took a deep breath, looking down at the sleeping boy under her arm. Smiling at her beautiful son, she slipped off the bed and tucked Dan under the covers. Pressing her lips to his forehead, she left his room silently, leaving the door open just a crack._

_Feeling the pressure lift off of his bed, a half-asleep Dan blearily opened one eye just in time to see his mum slip out of the door. As he shut his eyes again, Dan was sure that he saw a single feather fall to his bed, glinting in the light from the door._

My last memory of my mum before she got sick is not a happy one. I was about six years old, and I was supposed to be in bed. Mum had tucked me in two hours earlier than my usual bedtime. There had been no story that night, and that’s when I knew, as much as a six year old could know, that something was very wrong. And so, I waited two hours, two very boring hours, to go down the stairs and see if I could investigate.

I snuck down the stairs, doing my best to avoid the creaking steps, and peered around the doorframe to the kitchen. The first thing I noticed was my dad on the phone. From the few words I could hear, I think he was talking to grandma. Dad paced around, free hand running through his hair, lines on his face from worry. Dad wouldn’t stop moving. Pacing, opening and closing cupboards, re-arranging the salt and pepper shakers on the counter. Mum, on the other hand, was not moving. She was sat on a chair, curled in on herself. The only movement was the shaking from her sobs. I was terrified. Mummy never cried except when she was really, really happy, and it was spectacularly obvious that this was not a happy moment.

Dad finally hung up the phone and moved behind mum to wrap his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. Neither of them saw me.

I snuck back upstairs, crawling underneath the covers. I thought that maybe it was just a bad dream. Maybe everything would be alright in the morning.

It was not.

The next day, still in her clothes from the day before, my mum sat beside me on my bed and explained that I would no longer be getting a little sister. The angels needed her up in heaven, so we couldn’t have her here. I thought that the angels should have been more patient and let us have her first, and told mum so. She agreed and attempted a smile, but said there was nothing we could do to change it.

As the days and weeks passed by, mum began to do less and less. It started with little things. She made dad do run all of the errands, and he made all the phone calls. Soon, she stopped making dinner, she couldn’t do any household chores, and eventually, nearly three months after she lost my sister, she stopped reading to me. Mum spent all day in bed, saying little, doing less. For a while, dad tried to get her to be involved in her life, to pretend nothing was wrong, but her will to live was slowly fading. It was at that point that I had learned to read, at least enough to read picture books on my own. Whenever I had been sick, mum had read to me, so I decided that if I read stories to my mum, she would get better.

I chose my favorite book, grabbed my bear, and climbed into my mum and dad’s giant bed. I think mum was expecting me to ask her to read, and I saw her smile for the first time in months as I began to tell her the story, very slowly, of Winnie the Pooh.

We thought that this would be a turning point, that she would start to get better. But it was really just the calm before the storm.

Dad eventually convinced her to go see a doctor, and he gave her the bad news. What was supposed to take six months to kill her dragged for nearly three years. Mum was sick, very sick, and she spent the last three months of her life in hospital. Dad wouldn’t let me see her, and I don’t remember what the last thing she said to me was. I don’t remember her face anymore. The pictures are still in a box under my bed, ten years later. And when I can’t remember her smile, the shade of her hair, the light in her eyes, I pull them out. Pictures aren’t perfect, but they’re better than a faulty memory.

 

I don’t remember the actual funeral. I remember some of what happened before, but I especially remember what happened afterwards.

Before the funeral, dad helped me put on a suit, about two sizes too small, because no one had thought to buy the nine year old a new suit. He tied my tie just a little too tight, but I didn’t complain. He was stressed enough as it was. According to my grandparents, the funeral was nice. The pastor said nice things, grandma and one of my aunts gave nice speeches, and I didn’t cry.  

After mum was left at the graveyard, all of our relatives gathered at our house. I remember getting hugs from each and every one of them, and some more than once. Everyone spoke softly and said kind things. Dad said very little until everyone had gone home, and it was just us. That was the first night I saw him drink more than just a single beer, like he did at dinner sometimes. This night, our first real night in out new life, and he started a new tradition.

He said nothing to me, but yelled curses and complaints to everyone else.

To the doctors for not finding a cure.

To her parents for not helping out at the house more.

To the angels for taking their daughter to heaven and starting all of this.

To mom, for leaving us, he said us, alone.

And eventually, to me, for being the reason that she fought for so long, wore herself down.

Dad screamed for nearly an hour, ending on his knees, an empty bottle in his hand, tears running down his face, voice hoarse and scratchy.

He didn’t see me watching around the doorframe.

He didn’t see anything I did for the next ten years.


	2. Chapter 2

Not everyone gets a happy ending. I learned that pretty early on. First, my sister died before she was born. I’d say that’s not conducive of a happy ending.

And then mum got sick. She got sick and weak and sad, and it took her a long time to move on, to let go, to die. And dad and I couldn’t do anything to help. We just had to watch her crumble before us, and she left us broken when she left.

Mum didn’t deserve to die, as sad and sick and weak like she was. And dad doesn’t deserve the struggles of single-parenting. And I didn’t deserve to grow up with no mum and a distant, unreachable father who just goes to work, drinks, falls asleep, and goes back to work. 

Part of being a kid is copying your parents. At first, I copied my mum by reading and playing the piano. And after she died, I kept doing these things until dad said that the noise of the piano annoyed him. For me, it was a way to remember my mom, but also to forget her. To lose the memory of her, and everything that had happened in the last few years, to the music. It was an escape, but also a memorial. But dad, it just bothered him. He wasn’t ready to remember her, to even think about her. So I only played while he was away on business trips. To be fair, he did leave for a week at least once a month, or more often.

I read for a few months after mum died, but they were all books she had read to me, or I had read to her while she was sick, and I couldn’t cope with that. So I stopped reading. I put all of the books neatly on their shelves and left them to gather dust.

 

I’m not sure how I survived secondary school. I’m not sure what I spent most of that time doing.

Dad had returned to work after a week in silence, and I returned to school. I hadn’t really had any friends to begin with, and the few I could maybe count had moved on in my absence, friend groups reshuffling every three days at that age. Even my teachers gave up after a while. I fell behind, and after a terrifying meeting with my teacher and the headmaster, I turned all of my focus to school. I thought that maybe if I did extremely well in school, my dad would notice me. Be proud of me.

That didn’t happen, but I kept hoping. If I got all A’s he would be proud of me. If I did well on my GCSEs he’d be proud of me. If I got into a good sixth form he’d be proud of me. I did all of these things, but it amounted to very little. Dad worked, drank, and slept. He lived in his own world, and I couldn’t find a way in.

 

When I was thirteen, I began to copy my dad. It didn’t begin intentionally, I wasn’t  trying to copy him. I had just met some older kids at school, and they were a little different. They did decently in school, didn’t fit in with the popular kids, and knew some other, older, kids who supplied them with alcohol. Somehow, I got invited to a party of theirs one weekend. They thought it was hilarious that I had never had a drink before, and got me so drunk that I spent the next two days puking my guts out, and reveling in the marvelous blackout in my memory. I only remembered the first hour of the party clearly, and the rest, which supposedly went on for many hours, was a haze of excitement and euphoria. For those few hours, everything was okay, and I wanted to try it again. Weekends became a blur for me. Beginning as soon as school ended on Fridays until early Sunday morning, I would drink with these kids who had accepted me into their group. I began to hold my alcohol better, and needed to drink more and more to provide my blessed blackout.

These kids were not my friends. They were classmates, they were “drinking buddies,” but they did not care about me. I was so lonely, and so desperate for friendship, that I forced the friendship in my head. I told myself that they were my friends, they were people who cared about me, people who hung out with me.

 

When I was fifteen, I realized that I wasn’t entirely normal. While I had had crushes on plenty of girls, I also had crushes on guys. And it wasn’t until I heard some other students making fun of someone who had just come out as gay that I realized that it wasn’t normal. That liking boys, as a boy, was wrong. And while the whole internet said that there was no problem with it, no one in real life seemed to have anything positive to say on the matter. I decided not to tell anyone. It was a problem for another time. I had so many repressed problems that I wasn’t dealing with, this was just one more. 

Time moved strangely. School all blurred together, and before I knew it, I was seventeen, and starting my last year of sixth form. Apparently I learned to balance the alcohol and school, and was doing far better in my classes than I had expected. Life had developed a rhythm, a pattern. I went to class, did homework, and played piano when my dad wasn’t home. I’m not great at it, but piano relaxes me. It helps me feel some control, for just a little while.

Weekends were the same as before. I hung out with my “friends”, drinking as much as we could and remembering very little the next day. Looking back it was reckless, sure, but isn’t that what teenagers do? Drink too much, do stupid things, and not deal with any problems that may come up. 

I’m sure plenty of people have worse problems than me. My dad and I were fairly well off, I was in a good school, I got decent grades, and we lived in a nice area. Looking at it objectively, life was pretty good. But that didn’t mean that I didn’t have my own problems. I don’t have problems in comparison to so many people. There are dying kids in Africa and I’m all upset because I feel alone and sad and I think I might have some emotional problems but at least I’m not dying, right? At least I have a house and education and my dad, well, sort of, and some friends, sort of, and I live in a nice area in a nice house with a nice life.

My problems are not important, but I can’t stop dwelling on them. And it has become a downward spiral. I don’t deserve to spend so much time thinking about how hard my life is, how messed up my mind is but I do. When there are people starving in Africa or suffering natural disasters in Asia or homeless on the streets of London, my silly bout of depression is meaningless. I don’t deserve to have any sympathy or help when these people are still suffering.

But I want it. I want someone to help me, I want someone to feel sorry for me and to help me and to validate my feelings. I want to tell someone that I’m not okay, I’m not okay, I AM NOT OKAY.

Alcohol has been called a social lubricant. It can make you do things, say things, that you might not do or say if you were totally sober. It can cause you to make a fool of yourself, embarrass yourself, make life extremely awkward and confusing and problematic. Somehow I had managed to avoid doing this for the last few years. Somehow, we were all so drunk that if someone had said something, no one remembered it. If I said anything, which I don’t think I did, no one said anything.

But tonight, things changed. It was Friday, a typical Friday. We were only a few weeks into the school year, and it was slightly chilly out. Everyone was gathered at a random house, I can’t remember whose, I’m even sure if I know the person whose house it is. We were drinking, as per usual, and I had decided to take it slowly. I had decided that I would try, once everyone was extremely drunk, to try and come out to my friends. That way, if no one was okay with it, I could laugh it off, pretend I was joking, and hope no one remembered in the morning. It was a pretty solid plan, so I thought.

By eleven, everyone was giggly and happy. The alcohol was flowing freely, but my first beer was barely touched. I could feel the nervousness clawing in my stomach, pulling me down. I told myself not to be nervous. These are my friends, right? Friends accept you no matter what, right? They see me as a drunk idiot every week, this can’t be any worse. Right?

 

Wrong, so wrong. I’m an idiot, such an idiot. Why did I think this was a good idea? Why did I think that there would be no repercussions? My friends, they’re not my friends. They never were. Friends don’t react like this. Friends, even when drunk, don’t hit each other, seriously. A playful punch in the arm, sure. Bruises everywhere you can see? Not so much.

 

I don’t remember the walk to my house. I don’t remember getting in the door, climbing the stairs, or entering my bedroom.

I do remember how much I hate myself. I remember how pathetic my problems are compared to those people who are really suffering.

I remember how much my mum suffered while she was dying.

I remember how much my own sadness and depression drags me down each and every day, even though so many people have it so much worse. I remember hating how much I hate myself, and how I don’t deserve the help I wanted to try and find in my so-called friends.

I do remember opening the door to my bathroom, still in my clothes from school, and without looking at myself in the mirror I opened the cupboard door and grabbed a bottle.

I can’t swallow pills without a bite of something to eat, so I took them with a handful of more pills.

I stumbled to my bed, eyes barely open, and fell onto it. Blinking slowly, I curled into a pillow, pulling the duvet over myself, and let my eyes fall shut for the last time. A bright white light erased all thought, my mind going blissfully blank.


	3. Chapter 3

There was no pain, no pressure, no stress. I felt relaxed and calm for the first time that I could remember. Was this heaven? Purgatory? Limbo? I almost didn’t want to know. I was at peace, calm, away from everything. My body was totally relaxed, eyes closed.

Wait, do people have physical forms in the afterlife? Curiosity growing, I very slowly opened my eyes, anxious for my first glimpse of death.

My bedroom looked the same as is always did. Band posters on the walls, dusty bookshelf filled with dusty books. My desk covered in scraps of paper and homework.

I shot up in my bed. No. No no no nononono NO. I can’t still be here, I was leaving, I was going to get out, I can’t still be here, there’s no way!

A soft noise came from near the door, a shuffling sound.

I turned to look and saw someone standing in the doorway. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

"Daniel, you’ve woken up. How are you feeling?" I could feel my eyes go wide.

“Who are you? Why are you in my room?” I could feel the panic rising inside of me. Everything was going wrong.

He walked towards me, hands out-streched. “It’s okay, I promise. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help. Everything is okay now.”

I pulled my knees up to my chest, feeling the tears well up in my eyes. “No, it’s not, it’s not okay! This wasn’t supposed to happen, I’m not supposed to be here. It’s all supposed to be gone. But apparently I’m such a fuck-up that I can’t even kill myself properly. Damnit!” The tears were flowing freely, and I hid my face in my knees.

“No, Daniel, your suicide attempt was, well, would have been successful, but I stopped it. I saved you. I couldn’t let you die.”

I tried to catch my breath, my throat constricting from the tears.”Y-you stopped it? How?” I looked up to see a smile on his face.

“Magic.”

I scoffed. “Sure, sure magic.” His smile just grew wider.

“No, it isn’t really magic, but it’s the only way you’d really be able to understand. I used my, hm, powers to save you. They aren’t really magic, but they act in a similar way to human’s understanding of magic.”

My mind was racing to keep up with all that had happened in the last few minutes, my emotions flying all over the place. “So, wait,” I said, “you’re not human? And you never said who you are or why you’re here. Who are you, and why are you in my bedroom?” My voice was getting higher and faster, the panic building.

He sat down on the bed between me and the headboard. “Daniel, you need to calm down. Everything is okay now.” I took a couple deep breaths to try and stop my head from spinning.

“Good,” he smiled at me. “That’s better. To answer your questions, no, I am not human. My name is Phil, and I am your guardian angel. I’ve been watching over you your whole life. I never tried to interfere until now, though. I couldn’t let you try to hurt yourself. You are far too important for that.”

So much for those deep breaths.

“You’re joking, an angel? Really? That’s total bullshit. If you’re an angel, and you’re supposed to be watching over me, how come those guys beat me up last night? How come I haven’t had a single friend? How come my dad can’t have a full conversation without looking me in the eye? HOW COULD YOU LET MY MUM DIE?”

I could feel the tears falling down my face again. I closed my eyes, and then felt Phil wrap his arms around me. At first I thought he was shaking me, and the realized that I was trembling. The tears were coming faster and faster, turning into full out sobs.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, I was supposed to get out.” Phil’s head rested on mine, and my face was tucked into his shoulder, his hand rubbing my back.

“It will be okay, I promise. Daniel, you have a wonderful long, happy life ahead of you. It doesn’t end here. Everything gets better, I promise.” His voice was so calm, so strong, soothing, but my tears wouldn’t stop. My head was pounding, and it felt like my whole world was tumbling down around me. Every emotion I had hidden in a bottle was battling in my mind, and yet I was, somehow, safe. I was alive and stead and secure. Phil’s arms around me held the pieces together, for a little while, and his whispered words of comfort lulled me back to sleep.

 

I woke up warm and comfortable, my room quiet and dark. It was Saturday, a day to relax, do some homework, maybe play some piano. Dad was going to be out of town until Sunday evening, this was the perfect opportunity to learn something new. I didn’t open my eyes, I just pulled my duvet up around my shoulders. It took a few moments for the events of the previous night to come back to me. When they did, I could feel my heart rate speed up, and I became aware of the arms wrapped around me, the chest my head was resting on.

My eyes flew open and I twisted in my blanket to see Phil.

Phil, the angel.

Phil, who said he stopped the pills.

Phil, who claimed to be  _my_  guardian angel.

His blue eyes were open, his lips lifting into a smile as our eyes met. “Good morning, Daniel. How are you feeling this morning? Any better?”

I tore myself out of his arms, pulling my body away from his. “No, not better. I’m not better. I’m worse, because I have no idea what’s going on. None! You just show up all blue eyes and angel magic, and ruin my escape plan. I was getting out, I AM going to get out! Some stupid angel, which I still don’t believe, by the way, is not going to stop me from leaving.” I was standing by this point, chest heaving, looking down at Phil who was sat against my headboard. His smile had disappeared.

"You must be a shit angel. Your socks don’t even match."

He froze for a moment, face blank, before his tongue popped out in a laugh. “Yes, I am not the most professional. But I enjoy non-matching socks. It is bright and more cheerful, I think.” I just stared at him blankly.

“That’s not the point!” I shouted. “You don’t get it! I don’t care about your stupid socks or your, I don’t know, righteousness or whatever. I need you to leave. Now. Get out and stay out. Out of my house, out of my life, just out. I don’t care where you go, but I don’t want your help. I don’t need it! Just stay out of the way.” I held my bedroom door open, waiting for this strange man to leave my room, but he didn’t move. His eyes narrowed, head tilted to one side.

“What if I say no?” I didn’t have time for his games.

“No! You can’t say no, you just have to leave. Stop trying to help me, fix me, I don’t need it. Just leave me alone, okay? Just leave.” Phil didn’t even blink. “I’m not leaving Daniel, I want to help you, I have to help you. It’s my job.”

“Okay, first off, my name is Dan. Not Daniel, just Dan. And second, I’m still not buying the angel thing. I don’t want to, either, so please just leave? So I can pretend this whole thing never happened? That would make me very happy, you can help me that way. Now out!”

Again, Phil didn’t move. “Dan, yes, that is much easier to say. Shorter and, I think, it suits you better. Dan, then, I am not going anywhere because I know that as soon as I do, you will try to hurt yourself again. And I can not, will not, let that happen, not again.”

“So I take it you’re not going anywhere, then?” Phil nodded, and I sighed and shut the bedroom door. The adrenaline was wearing off and my head was pounding.

I sat down at the foot of the bed, keeping my distance from Phil, and pulled my knees up to my chest, resting my chin on them. “So you’re an angel?” What does that mean?” I kept my gaze on my feet, but I could feel Phil readjusting, sitting up straighter.

“I’m glad you asked! Simply put, I am in very much like a human in appearance, as you can tell. Almost the same body. However, I live longer, a lot longer, and of course, I have wings. But there’s no golden halos or togas or anything like that.

“One of the biggest differences angels, I, have from a human is that I am attached to a human. In this case, you. I am supposed to watch over you, take care of you, but not interfere. I am supposed to be subtle, be unseen. As you can obviously tell, I messed up on that one.” I kept my eyes locked on my feet, processing.

“Prove it.”

“And how would you like me to do that? I have already stopped your suicide attempt.”

“Um, maybe, you said you have wings? Can I, um, see them?” Looking up at Phil, I could see him smiling. He stood facing me, unbuttoning his plaid shirt and laid it on the bed. Slowly, I could see the dark feathers extend from behind his back, and as Phil turned I could see them better. They glinted with other colours, blue, gold, silver. My mouth fell open. I didn’t notice that I was standing up. Phil looked over his shoulder at me, a little smirk on his lips.

“Can I, um…”

“If you want to touch them, go ahead, but be gentle.” I nodded, hand extended.

I carefully brushed my fingers in a downward motion, stroking the beautiful feathers. “I think, I mean, I’m not sure but I think, maybe, I think I’ve seen them before. Or, well, just a feather. When I was little.” I couldn’t tear my eyes off of the beautiful wings. They were softer than I expected, and cool to the touch.

“I’ve always been watching over you. Sometimes, just as you were dozing off, I would stay near your door and watch you mother read to you, tuck you in. She told the best stories. I miss her very much.”

I looked up at Phil. His eyes and mouth had grown solemn, gazing down at my hands still on his wings. “I miss her, too,” I whispered.

Phil turned abruptly and as I pulled my hands back he wrapped his arms around me. After a moment of shock, I returned the hug, wrapping my arms around my angel.

Phil and I stayed like that for what felt like hours, but was probably just a minute or two. He was surprisingly cool which felt nice on my naturally warm skin. We eventually sat back down on my bed. I kept trying to wrap my head around everything.

An angel. A real, honest to god angel, was sitting in my bedroom, holding my hand, letting me stroke his wings, and stopped me from killing myself. It was so ridiculous, but here was all the proof in the world that I could need.

“Dan?” I turned my head to see a worried expression on Phil’s face.

“Yeah?”

“Will you be okay if I leave for a while? Technically speaking you aren’t supposed to know about me, and definitely not supposed to see me or talk to me or anything like that so…”

I nodded. “Yeah, of course. Go ahead. I’ll be fine on my own, of course.” Phil looked at me with worry written all over his face, wrinkles showing on his forehead.

“I’ll still be around, still be watching,” he warned. “If you need, me, for whatever reason, just say my name, and I’ll be here, I promise.” Feeling a warmth bloom inside of me, I nodded again. When I looked up, Phil was gone, a single dark feather on my pillow.


	4. Chapter 4

I wandered around the house aimlessly for about an hour after Phil left. It felt like something should have changed, my life should have been different in some way, but it wasn’t. The kitchen was bare, the piano dusty, the books untouched.

Seeing as it was Saturday and dad was out on some business trip, I had the place to myself. To be honest, though, there wasn’t really anything I wanted to do that I couldn’t do when dad was here. The only limited time freedom I enjoyed was the piano.

I used to play a lot when I was younger, my mum taught me. And I played for a while after she died, but dad didn’t like it. He said it reminded him too much of her, so I wasn’t allowed to play when he was home anymore.

Once I turned fifteen, I mostly stopped playing. It was a thankless, painful task, and I found less and less joy in it. I still found myself drawn to it, sitting at the creaky old bench stroking the ivory keys whenever dad went away for the weekend. I didn’t always play, but when I did, I felt not necessarily good, but less bad. Lighter and somewhat freer.

Of course, I found myself sitting at the old piano again, sorting through the modest pile of sheet music sitting on top of the upright. I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking for until I saw a piece I had picked up quite recently.

[Eric Whitacre](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D7o7BrlbaDs&list=FLhqWDsAOnImRzUA8-SF4VSQ&index=2). Excellent.

Even though he wrote mainly choral pieces, the piano versions were beautiful.  
The rest of the morning flew by. After more than two hours my hands and wrists were sore and my spirits were lifted slightly. I had a brief lunch of dry cereal, straight from the box, and tried to focus on homework. Seeing as Phil was determined to stop me from killing myself, I may as well be productive with the extra time.

Somehow, without meaning to, I didn’t feel as bad as I did last night. Swallowing a bottle of pills didn’t sound nearly as appealing and it was as if my manic depressed energy had disappeared. Not completely, because that’s not how it works, but for now, at least, I didn’t want to die. The moment to do so was gone.

There was no doubt in my mind that it would come back.

When I woke up Sunday morning, I could feel my routine falling back into place. I had spent all of yesterday playing piano and doing homework, and I was positive that today would be the same, just like last weekend, and like next weekend would be, too. It took me about half an hour to convince myself to get out of bed, and once I did, I saw the post-it note stuck to my door.

**“Good morning, Dan!  
I’m sure you will have a great day.**

**Remember to smile!  
-Phil”**

It took me a moment to realize the giant smile that had appeared on my face, and I didn’t try to stop it. Somehow, this stupid angel who had ruined a lot of plans for me was making me smile and for whatever reason, I was okay with it. For now.

My dad came home just as I was putting away the cereal I ate for lunch. The positive energy I had been feeling all day spiked, and I took a chance. Telling my “friends” that I wasn’t straight hadn’t gone well. This was my dad, and even if he wouldn’t be not happy about it, he couldn’t get  _that_ upset.

“Hey, dad?” His eyes widened a bit as he looked up from untying his shoes.

“Yes, Daniel? Did you need something?” I could feel the adrenaline coursing through me, heartbeat racing in double time.  

“Um, I just wanted to tell you something.”

_No backing out now, Howell. Do it, tell him, he’s not going to care._

Dad straightened up, hanging his coat by the door. “Well? What is it?” I gulped, wringing my hands. My heart leapt in my throat. “Dad, um, I’m… I’m not… I’m not straight. I’m, well, I think I’m bi. Bisexual.”

His expression went blank, and he blinked slowly. It felt like time froze.

After a moment, he nodded, opened his mouth, shut it again, and walked out of the room.

I stayed where I was for another second. The adrenaline started to wear off and I could feel full-fledged exhaustion taking hold. Before I could think anything, I dragged myself upstairs into my room, slamming the door behind me and flopping onto the bed.

Fuck.

That didn’t go very well.

Granted, I didn’t really expect him to jump with joy or cheer, though even just accepting me? Saying it was okay? But no, I didn’t even get a verbal acknowledgement that he had heard me.

I rolled onto my side, trying to repress the feelings rising inside of me. I forced them down, crushed them and ignored them.

It’s fine, I don’t need to have any attraction to anyone, no one. Better to be forever alone than to even think about anything else, right? I don’t need to be with anyone, I don’t deserve to be with anyone.

I took a few more minutes to even my breathing, to calm myself.

It was alright. My heartbeat was steady, my breath stable. I can definitely control myself, my emotions.

Focusing on maintaining a steady pulse, keeping my breathing even, I decided that now would be a good time to start my uni applications. It would take lots of concentration and required my full attention. Perfect.

By about 9, I could feel exhaustion creeping in and hunger growing inside of me. I didn’t think I could face seeing my dad yet, so I climbed into bed far earlier than was normal for me, crawled under the blankets, and clutched a pillow to my chest.

As sleep pulled me under, the last thought on my mind was bright blue and white.

 

_The sky was clear, not a cloud in sight. I could see from horizon to horizon, and at the edge of my vision, a flicker of white and gold. I turned around, following the colors, and saw Phil._

_Phil, with his bright blue eyes and beautiful wings._

_That’s when I realized that we were in the air, Phil’s wings moving gracefully up and down. I panicked. How was I in the air? How was I not crashing down to the earth?_

_Phil smiled at me, gesturing that I look over my shoulder._

_ As I fell out of the dream, I discovered that I could fly with my own wings. _


	5. Chapter 5

I spent lunch by myself in the music department. The piano room was, as usual, empty, and I found I didn’t mind the solitude. While not being much for conversation, my history textbook kept me from becoming too bored.

My so called “friends” hadn’t said anything to me yet today, as I had predicted, and I expected to never talk to them again. The prospect, though satisfying, was also lonely.

“Hello, Dan.” I leapt about a foot off the piano bench I was sitting on, turning towards the door to see…

“Jesus Christ, Phil. Don’t scare me like that.” He smirked at me, raising an eyebrow as he looked around the small, soundproofed room.

“Interesting place to spend your lunch hour. Aren’t you meant to be socializing? Or, I don’t know, eating lunch?” I shrugged. “Nah. I’m not hungry. And besides, I didn’t want to go to the cafeteria. Too many people. I’m fine.” Phil frowned at me as I turned back to my text book. I felt him sit down next to me on the bench. I tried to ignore him, but psychology could hardly hold my focus.

Feeling Phil’s eyes on my face, I stared at the pages until the words and letters all swam together and I slammed it shut. “What do you want?” I asked angrily. Phil pulled back, lips twitching. “I was trying to see what you were reading.”

Lifting up my psychology book, I turned the cover so he could see.

“It’s just an A-level psychology book. Nothing terribly interesting here.” Phil just nodded, holding out his hand, and I gave it to him. I watched his blue eyes skim the table of contents, and then flip through the book. After a minute, his head jerked up, looking off into the corner.

“Your lunch is almost over.” My eyes widened and I pulled my phone out of my pocket — five minutes left.

“How did you do that?” Phil just gave me his lopsided smile, tongue poking out.

“I’ll see you after class.”

I blinked and he had vanished. Sighing deeply, I gathered my belongings and trudged to class.

When the weather wasn’t terrible, I walked home from school each day, ever since I was seven or eight. Today the weather was as close to perfect as England could get. The sun was shining, there was a light breeze, and it was just cool enough for a hoodie. None of my classmates lived near me, so I always walked alone, which I was especially looking forward to today.

I couldn’t have gone more than a block before I caught something in the corner of my vision.

“Fucking hell, Phil. You have got to stop doing that.” That stupid smile was on his face. For the first time, I noticed his clothes. He wasn’t wearing “traditional” angel clothes, like a toga or fancy bathrobe. To be honest, he looked quite…normal. His black skinny jeans could have been mine, and his red plaid button down looked as common as could be.

“I told you I’d see you again after school.” I just nodded.

“Sure, okay, just stop randomly appearing, okay? Some warning next time?”

“Okay, did I really startle you that much? I’m sorry, Dan. I’ll try to appear within your vision, then. Would that help?”

“Yeah, okay, whatever. It’s good enough for now.” Pleased with himself, Phil fell into step with me, hands sticking out of his pockets all funky looking. We walked a couple of blocks in silence. I kept my thoughts quiet, my mind relatively empty.

 

We were the only ones in the house all evening. Dad was working late, it seemed, and I spent a solid three hours on homework in silence.

Almost as soon as we entered the house, Phil began investigating. He looked at every book on the sitting room shelves, and once he was through with those, he began on the shelves in my bedroom.

At first I was distracted by his presence. Even though he hardly made a noise, I kept glancing over at him to reaffirm that he was, indeed, still in my room. Eventually, though, I went back to my homework, and Phil continued looking through my books.

Around seven, I pushed my chair back from the desk, reaching my arms above my head to stretch. Phil set down the book he was looking at,  _The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe_ , and turned to face me.

“How’s the studying going?” I lifted one shoulder, shrugging, and stood up.

"Ehh, it’s alright. Not terribly interesting." Phil lifted one eyebrow. "Didn’t you choose these subjects? These are your A-levels, they are subjects that you selected two years ago. Don’t you find them interesting?"

"Yeah, sometimes I guess. But it gets tiring. I don’t care about the sections of the brain or the function of the amygdala or hippocampus. It won’t ever apply to my life, and I don’t even know what I’m going to do for the rest of my life." Phil nodded slowly, eyebrows pulled down. I could tell he didn’t really understand, but I didn’t want to try and explain it.

Phil followed me as I left the bedroom and went to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge. I started pulling out a variety of different foods, before turning slowly around. “Hey Phil?” The angel was sitting on the counter, looking around the room.

"Yes, Dan?"

"Um, do you…do you errrr, I don’t know…Do you, like, eat?"

Phil just laughed. His hands wrapped around his sides, tongue poking out of his mouth and almost fell over backwards. I just stood in front of the open fridge.”It’s not funny, Phil! I’m trying to be polite.”

The black-haired angel finally gathered himself, wiping a tear from his eye. “No, Dan, I don’t eat. But thank you for asking, it was very kind.” I narrowed my eyes at him, but turned back to the still-open fridge.

Eventually I found all the ingredients for scrambled eggs and toast. Phil was still sitting on the counter behind me as I began mixing eggs and cheese together.

"So," I began. "You don’t eat, yeah? Do you sleep?"

"Nope." Phil replied, popping the ‘p’.

"So what do you do all day?" I asked. Phil hummed for a minute before answering.

"Pretty much what you do. I look around your house, follow you to all your classes, in the middle of the night I wander around the town or go flying. It’s not terribly exciting, but I enjoy it."

I scooped the eggs out of the pan onto the plate I had set on the counter. The toast popped a minute later, and an idea popped into my head as I spread the peanut butter on one piece.

"Well, I’ve only been alive for seventeen years. I’m guessing that you’re quite a lot older than that so…What did you do before me? Did you follow some other poor soul around for their whole life?" I turned to look at him, plate of dinner in hand. Phil’s face was cautiously neutral.

"Yes, a few other people. But that was a very long time ago."

"Well, I figured that. Who were those people? Were they interesting? Did you live in any other places?" Phil’s expression remained blank but his knuckles whitened around the edge of the counter.

"I would rather not talk about it. Those lives belong to those who lived them, and are not mine to discuss. They are no longer here, and should be of no interest to you."

I raised an eyebrow, sitting down at the kitchen table.

"Alright, fine, I won’t ask. I just figured, you know so much about me, you’ve been here my whole life, so I thought maybe I would ask a little bit about yours." Phil just shook his head.

"I understand, Dan, I really do. But there are many parts of my life that are not available for you to know. Please do not ask again." Nodding, I kept my gaze focused on my eggs. When I looked back up, Phil was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Sometimes I got lost in my own head. The conversations I had with myself, the arguments, drown out anything those around me might have said. The words and ideas and pictures and thoughts in my head swirled overwhelmingly, and I was always in the center of it, caught in the eye of the storm.

Slowly, somehow, Phil was breaking in. His stupid smile, his laugh, his seemingly inane questions about what I was doing, always asking what I was thinking. It broke up the twisting thoughts in my head and brought some things into focus. He would always ask the stupidest questions:

What’s your favorite color?

What kind of dog do you want one day?

Do you like fantasy or realistic fiction?

Which character is your favorite in Mario Kart?

Do you want to have kids one day?

All of these questions brought answers into focus. Sometimes they were easy, sometimes they were harder. Did I want to have kids one day? I wasn’t sure. Did I want to bring another human in to this shitty world? Did I want anyone, especially one of my own, to suffer the way I have? If I didn’t want to be here, what gave me the right to force someone else to?

But still, I answered all of Phil’s questions, and in turn asked him several of my own:

How old are you?

Are there other angels?

What happens to angels when their human dies?

Who is in charge of the angels?

If there are angels is there also a god? A heaven? A hell?

What do you do while I’m asleep?

Do you really follow me around all day?

Can other people see you?

I got so few answers, but then again, I wasn’t even supposed to know that Phil existed, let alone anything else about angels. All I knew was that Phil was assigned to me for life, and that I was not his first assignment. I was sure that I wouldn’t be his last.

 

School with Phil around got simultaneously easier to endure and more difficult to concentrate in.

"Daniel?"

My head shot up. The teacher had called on me and I wasn’t entirely sure what class I was in, let alone what the question was.

"1247," came a breathy whisper in my ear. I repeated the answer, and the teacher nodded before moving on to some other distracted student.

"Thanks," I breathed to my right. I could almost hear his snicker before I fixated my attention on the open text book in front of me, trying to figure out what the question had been.

 

Lunches were no longer spent in isolation. Phil would sit with me in a piano practice room, pulling food out from god knows where, and read over my shoulder as I tried to study. Sometimes, when I was actually caught up on homework for the day, I would play piano. It wasn’t very good—I rarely had any music with me—but Phil said he didn’t mind.

"It sounds really great, Dan. Honestly, I don’t know why you won’t even consider applying to a conservatory."

"Because I’ve never had any formal lessons. A year eight with half-decent training could out play me, easy."

On most days, Phil would just shake his head and drop it after that. But not today. “Dan, honestly, you should at least audition. You’re really skilled: you can play songs by ear, without music, and you’re really good at memorizing it. Just try it, okay? If it doesn’t go well, you can forget we ever tried.”

Putting the “we” out of my mind, I shook my head. “Nowhere would ever take me. I’ve never performed before. I don’t even have an audition piece. There’s no point, Phil. I’m not good enough.”

"But you are!" Phil was almost yelling. "Why can’t you see that? Please just audition, Dan. Just try it. Send in one recording and see what happens."

I only had five minutes until class, so I just nodded as I shoved my psychology textbook in to my backpack. “Fine, whatever. I’ll submit a recording this weekend. But you’ll have to help me choose a piece. And it has to be something I already have!”

Phil was almost jumping with excitement, clapping his hands together. I forced a half smile. “Thank you, Dan! Your father will be out tonight, so we can choose something then.”

Phil snapped out of existence as I opened the practice room door, smile falling.

My father.

I still hadn’t talked to him since my coming out failure, and to my knowledge, he had no inkling of the angel spending many hours in his house.

Not that I wanted to tell him, of course. I doubted he would even be able to see Phil. And Phil would never allow it. He was constantly telling me that I wasn’t even supposed to know he existed. He would never let me tell someone else.

 

Phil walked home with me every day. Once we were out of sight from the school, Phil would fall into place beside me, and ask how my day had been as if he hadn’t been there, invisible, for the whole day. “How did school go?”

"It was great. Learned loads that will be useful to my life." Phil sighed at my overt sarcasm, shaking his head.

"Why do you even ask? You were there all day, you know what happened and what I learned and what I wasn’t paying attention to. What’s the point in asking?"

"I may have been there, but I don’t know what you were thinking. I can’t read your mind, Dan, and your thoughts, when you share them, interest me. Your mind works in fascinating ways, and I like to know what you will think of next." I stared blankly at him. "My thoughts aren’t that interesting. Even I don’t like listening to them."

“Your thoughts are  _very_  interesting. They’re a very individualized and unique look at the world, and it is entirely you. You’re fascinating, Dan, and very entertaining. I love hearing what you think of the world and it’s inhabitants. Dan, your thoughts are so important to me. For years I have had the privilege of watching you grow up, and seeing your life. But no matter how much I wished it, I couldn’t know what you were thinking, I couldn’t really know  _you_. And now that I can know you, I don’t want to miss a thing.”

We had both stopped walking, Phil with a confused expression on his face even though I felt more confused, I’m sure.

“Dan, don’t you know how important you are? I have watched over you for your entire life, you have become my life. I spend every day with you, and I will continue to do so for the next seventy or eighty years, and I look forward to it. I look forward to seeing what you will do with your life, and the man that you will become, are becoming.”

Everything had cleared itself out of my mind. The usual swirl of words and thoughts and ideas had calmed and disappeared.

“Phil…” I couldn’t come up with words, with meanings. All that stood out was Phil.

Phil really, honest to god, cared about me. He smiled, not his silly, messing around smile, but a genuine, caring smile.

I felt my mental walls crumble.


	7. Chapter 7

Phil held the camera as I sat down at the piano. The music was set up, I had spent the last week practicing every second I got, and this was it. Phil had finally talked me into auditioning for a couple conservatories, and now we were recording me playing.

Which terrified me.

I had never played in front of someone before Phil besides my mum when I was very little, and the idea of sending someone a recording, by choice, was terrifying.

Taking a deep breath, I nodded to Phil, who turned on the camera, and I began [playing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JYkIoWwhTfw&list=FLhqWDsAOnImRzUA8-SF4VSQ&index=3).

When I finished, I nodded to Phil to stop the recording, and his smile stretched across his whole face. I stood up from the bench and he set the camera down on top of the piano.

“Well?” I asked.

“It was amazing, you’re amazing, Dan. There’s no way they won’t accept you. You played so well!” I could feel a blush rising in my cheeks, and I looked at my feet. The energy and excitement rolling off of Phil was almost palpable.

His cool fingers touched my chin and pulled my eyes to meet his. “Really, Dan, it was wonderful. I wouldn’t lie to you.” I just nodded, pulling my head away from his grasp.

“Thanks, Phil. I’m going to go work on homework, something that may actually get me into a decent university.”

Sure, Phil was disappointed that I wasn’t as enthusiastic about the conservatory admission as he was, but it wasn’t realistic. I had filled out my application, though, and I did the audition recording. Now all I had to do was wait to be rejected.

“Okay, you do your studying, I’ll send these in,” Phil called after me as I climbed the stairs. I just waved over my shoulder and entered my bedroom, shutting the door behind me.

Phil had been in my life, at least, while I was aware of him, for nearly three months now. While I had gotten used to having him around, having him ask me about everything and anything, and keeping me company at school and at home, I did sort of miss the privacy I had before. Then, I didn’t know Phil was always around, so I could feel alone. Now, even if I can’t see him, he may be invisible and just lying on my bed, or standing behind me, or doing the can-can on the ceiling. There was no way to know.

But on the other hand, I didn’t mind too much. Phil was nice to be around. He was always so positive and cheerful, constantly narrating his thoughts and observations, about me and the events around us. He would try and encourage me to do what I thought was best, which seemed to coincide, in his mind, with what he thought would be best for me. While that did get a little irritating, such as with the conservatory audition, it wasn’t too bad. It was kind of nice, actually, that he thought so highly of me. It was comforting and reassuring.

I didn’t see Phil for the rest of the evening. Falling asleep without knowing if he was nearby was a little unnerving, as I had gotten so used to the companionship, but I managed to slip into an uneasy slumber.

 

I don’t remember dreaming, but at some point in the middle of the night, I think I woke up. There was a figure on my floor with dark hair and light wings spread out, a dozen books spread around him.

Phil.

Smiling,  _he came back_ , I rolled over and went back to sleep.

 

It was the weekend again, thank god.

Phil and I had resumed our now traditional weekend positions, me at my desk with a textbook or an in-progress paper in front of me, Phil on the bed, nose in a book.

We didn’t talk about the audition, or about why he didn’t come back until after I was asleep last night. But it wasn’t uncomfortable, it was never uncomfortable with Phil.

Around 3, I pushed my chair back and stood up. Phil looked up from his book. “Ready for a break?” I asked, walking out of the room and heading to the kitchen. Phil followed, sitting in the counter as I began to rummage through the cupboard for a snack.

"Have you ever eaten?" I asked, pulling out a box of cereal. Just as good dry as with milk. Phil shook his head.

"Never. I don’t need to eat, you know that, so I never really considered wasting resources like that. Although I have wondered what it would be like."

I smiled, and Phil looked alarmed. “Well how about a bowl of cereal? You can just try a bite.”

"Dan, what did I just say about wasting resources?"

"Screw the resources. One bite of cereal won’t make anyone starve, and dad will just buy more cereal. Come on, just one bite?" Narrowing his eyes, Phil took the spoonful of Shreddies I held out, and looked at it skeptically.

"But what does it taste like?"

"Cereal! Just eat it, Phil. Come one."

Closing his eyes, Phil put the spoon in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

"Well?" He opened one eye gingerly. "It wasn’t awful. I think I quite like the taste. But it was such a strange sensation. I don’t think I would like to repeat it."

I laughed around my own spoonful of cereal, and Phil smiled.

"That was kind of fun, trying something new. I may need to do that again." I nodded vigorously.

"You could start by telling me something, anything, about you. All I know is your name and that you’re an angel. And apparently that you like Shreddies. You know just about everything about me. All I’m asking is a little balance." I looked down at my cereal bowl to put the spoon back, and when I looked back up, Phil had vanished.

"Come on, Phil. That’s not fair. I know you’re still here. You don’t need to tell me everything, we would be here for ages, but something? How long have you been an angel? Who’s an interesting person you guarded? Why won’t you tell me anything about you? You freak out and disappear every time I ask. Please, Phil? Just tell me something?"

I had been turning in slow circles, unsure of where Phil would be, and he reappeared sat on the stairs, arms around his knees. I sat beside him.

"What are you so afraid of?"

He just shook his head, and I put an arm around his shoulders. We stayed like that for a few minutes, and when he finally spoke, it was very low, very soft.

"I like you very much, Dan. And I am worried that I am becoming too attached. While I do not regret revealing myself to you, I am afraid about how close I am becoming to you. The last person that I revealed myself to, that I told anything to, used it against me. Her story was not a happy one, and it was very difficult for me to deal with. I don’t believe that you would hurt me the way she did, but I am still worried."

I didn’t say anything, waiting to see if he would keep talking. My patience proved fruitful.

"I will tell you about her. That may answer many of your questions."


	8. Chapter 8

“Her name was Beth, and she was fourteen years old when she fell out of a tree. I caught her, revealing myself, and I became her best friend.

“She was a very lonely girl, an only child, like you, and she lived on a farm with her parents, so there were no other children around for her to play with. And she was a very sweet girl, very strong-minded. I enjoyed spending time with her, and by the time she was sixteen, we had become very close.

“I told her many things about myself, and about angels in general. I was her best friend, her confidant, her support system. Her father died when she was fifteen, and her mother, although she tried very hard to be there for Beth, was very busy and was unable to spend very much time with her.

“I was not terribly surprised when Beth told me she had fallen in love with me. And I loved her, too, just not in the same way.

“Although she was upset that I did not return her affections, we remained close.

“At one point, I told her something that changed her life. Angels can, if they choose, turn human. And if they turn human, they can not turn back. If an angel chooses to become a human, they will live as a human, with human needs, and eventually die.

“It was a mistake, telling Beth this. She convinced herself that her lonely existence would be better if I became a human and married her. I tried to convince her that I could not make her happy that way, and I did not love her that way. We would not be happy together. She remained convinced otherwise, and continued to try and pressure me to turn for her.

“For the first year or so, we had many discussions on the matter. I told her that she could do so much better than me, I’m not a human, and she still had so much potential. There was so much she could do with her life, and I should not have any sort of significant impact on her life.

“Beth would not be convinced, and continued to try and persuade me.

“Eventually, Beth began to lose her mental stability. She spent every waking moment telling me how much better I could make her life, and how much she loved me and needed me. When Beth was eighteen, she tried to kill herself. She climbed the tree that she had fallen out of when she was fourteen, and jumped to the ground.

“I caught her, of course, but it was not the last time. Beth had decided that she would use her life as a bribe to me. If I would not turn into a human to be with her, she did not want to live.

“This went on for many years. Sometimes, everything was good. And then, every few weeks, Beth would be in the tree ready to jump, or tying a block of cement to her ankle by the lake, or swallowing rat poison. A guardian angel’s prime directive is to save their human’s life, and to enhance it in any way possible, without revealing themselves. I had already revealed myself, so I was resigned to uphold the first part. And so I saved her. Every time.

“When Beth’s mother died, Beth inherited the farm. She was twenty six.

“The farm quickly fell into disrepair. I tried to keep the animals fed and the crops from withering when I was confident that Beth was asleep, but I was afraid to be away for too long in case she put herself in harm’s way again.

“If she had ever gone to a doctor of any sort, they would have diagnosed her with all sorts of problems. She was not the sweet girl she had been when I saved her from that first fall. She had turned herself hysterical and practically insane. She regularly tried to kill herself, and there was nothing I could do besides save her, over and over. I could feel myself wearing out. I could feel my resistance and patience wearing thin.

“When Beth was thirty four, she climbed the tree she had fallen out of twenty years earlier.

“This time, she hit the ground.”


	9. Chapter 9

We were quiet for a long time after Phil finished his story. I could hear that he wasn’t breathing, and I could hear my own heartbeats.

Eventually, I put my head on his shoulder, my arm still around him, and he put his arm around me. We stayed there until the sun had begun to set, and then Phil pulled away from me, leaning against the railing. I took my arm back, and we both started to speak at the same time. He smiled a little, nodding at me to go first.

“Thank you for telling me all of that, and I’m sorry that that happened to you. I can’t even imagine how difficult that must have been. And I understand why you didn’t want to tell me anything. You didn’t want me to try and pressure you. And Phil, I promise that I won’t do that. I don’t want to do that to you, you don’t deserve it. Something like that, choosing to be human, that’s your decision. And, honestly, I don’t think you ever need to make that choice. You could just be an angel, be you, forever.”

“I know you wouldn’t, Dan. You aren’t like Beth, not at all. But it has been hard for me, since her, to even try to be close to another human, until you. And how close I am with you scares me. But I also like it, you know? I like being around you and learning about you, and learning more about the human world. Like the cereal. I had never had anything to eat before, and because of you, I tried cereal. And that was a good experience. And I would like to have more of those.”

“Good, because next you’re going to try candy. Maltesers. Chocolate in general. You’ll love it.”

“I’m sure I will, Dan, but I don’t want you to focus on me too much. I don’t want you to be too far removed from your life, your natural life, as it would be if I wasn’t here.”

“If you weren’t here I would be dead, Phil. That’s not even me being dramatic. And what about that conservatory audition? Never would have done that without you. I wouldn’t have tried to tell my dad that I’m bi and I wouldn’t have done so much studying on weekends, and I would be the loneliest person ever, assuming I didn’t die that weekend.”

Phil tried to interupt me, but I shushed him.

“Phil, I’m not saying you’re the center of my life or anything, but you are a significant part of my life now. You’re the only person I talk to and you’re the only person encouraging me and to be honest, you’re the only friend I’ve had since I was like eight or nine. You’re a part of my life, and you need to accept that.”

Phil and I just stared at each other for a minute. I was shocked at myself. I hadn’t really ever planned on telling Phil I wanted him around, partly because I was still feeling a little stubborn from when he refused to leave that first day when I was going to hurt myself. Mostly, though, it was because I had never really cared for someone like I cared for Phil, besides my mum, that is.

“Dan, I know that I changed your life in some small ways.” I scoffed. “And I shouldn’t want to keep changing it, but part of me does. Part of me wants to be a part of your life and see how far you can go, how high you can fly. I shouldn’t want that, but I do.”

“Then do it. You can stick around as long as you’d like. But right now, we should probably move out of the living room before my dad gets home.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s quite ready to see you having an animated conversation with yourself.” We had both stood up, and Phil was walking up the stairs. “Wait, you mean he can’t see you? Can anyone see you?” I ran up the stairs two at a time, tripping over my own feet and almost falling on my face. Phil laughed.

“You can see me, can’t you?” We entered my room, and I shut the door behind me. “Yeah, obviously. But does that mean I’m crazy? I’m talking to someone no one else can see. Is there anyone else who can see you? I’m not crazy, dammit, I’m not just talking to myself!”

Phil kept laughing, sitting crosslegged at the foot of my bed, as I sat against the headboard. “You’re not crazy, I promise I’m real. But no one else can see me unless I choose for them to be able to. So, for all intents and purposes, you’re the only one who can see me.”

“I guess that makes sense,” I said, stretching out my legs, my toes nearly reaching Phil’s knees, “but I still don’t like it. You should go into town with me sometime, and let people see you. Just to try it.”

“Are you going to keep making me try new things? Because this isn’t what I signed up for.” I just laughed, nodding. “Yup. Try new things, Phil. It’s good for you. Chocolate and public visibility.” Phil got a mischievous look in his eyes, and pulled his knees up to his chest. I gulped.

“If I have to try new things, so do you. How do you feel about heights?”

 

The small park at the edge of town was empty. Of course it was, it was nearly December and freezing and windy. No one in their right mind was out in this weather.

Except for me and Phil.

The park was situated around the bottom of a small hill, with trees going all the way up and over. The miniature forest was perfect for games of capture the flag and climbing races.   
Phil and I were stood at the top of the hill among the trees, leaves crunching everywhere we walked.

“Where do you get your clothes?” I asked, the idea striking me. “You always have different clothes, even though you probably don’t need to change. I think.”

Phil just winked at me. “That’s one secret you don’t get to know. Now come on, let’s climb this tree.” Although I’m sure Phil could have just flown to the top, he climbed with me, leading the way and helping me figure out which branches were the most useful.

Before I knew it we were at the top of the tree, just below the highest layer of leaves.

"Are you ready, Dan?" I couldn’t speak. There was a lump in my throat and I thought I was going to vomit. Nodding, Phil’s smile grew wider.

"Alright, turn around, and I’m going to hold you so you don’t fall." I did as he asked, wrapping my arms over Phil’s. He was laughing, bright and happy. "Okay, here we go! One…two…three!"

We burst out of the leaves, and Phil’s wings snapped open. I looked up at the sky, leaves still falling around us, and we rose higher and higher. Phil was laughing, and I could feel myself beginning to smile.

I looked down at the ground, and the tree we had taken off from so much further than I had expected. It looked tiny, smaller than a toy, and the whole hike an anthill.

All around us I could see clear blue sky with just a few hints of clouds far away. There were no birds, they had already migrated. It was just me, and Phil, and the sky.

We didn’t speak, just flew. It was amazing, being so high up, so removed from earth and the real world, the cold air biting my cheeks, but it was beautiful up here.

Phil’s arms, wrapped tight around my waist, were all that stopped me from falling, but I wasn’t worried. Phil wouldn’t let me fall.

 

The first time my dad spoke to me after I came out to him was two weeks before Christmas. I thought he wasn’t home, so I had gone downstairs to get a bowl of cereal, only to see my dad sitting at the kitchen table, newspaper in hand. I tried to back out before he saw me, but he had heard the stairs creak.

"Daniel, come sit down." Palms sweating, I sat down across from him, folding my hands in my lap.

"I received a call from your grandmother yesterday. She was wondering what we were going to do for Christmas." He looked over the paper at me expectantly, as if I should have made plans. To be honest, I hadn’t even thought about Christmas yet. When I said nothing, he continued.

"We will be going over to her house on the day before Christmas Eve, and we will stay until New Year’s Eve. Please be prepared to socialize with your grandmother, as well as your other relatives. They have not seen you in a while, and I’m sure they will ask about your plans for university. Speaking of, how are your applications going? Have you heard back from anywhere, yet?"

"Well, I applied to a couple places, um, four schools. I heard back from Manchester last week, and they accepted me. I’ll probably hear back from the others in January or February."

Dad nodded, looking back at his paper. “Good, good. Well, be prepared to leave next Monday.” Feeling dismissed, I ran back up the stairs.

Phil was sprawled on my bed, The Chronicles of Narnia spread around him. “What happened to the cereal?” I just shook my head. “Dad happened. Turns out he’s still home.” Phil sat up immediately, patting the bed beside him. I sat down, pulling my knees up to my chest. “We’re going to my grandma’s for Christmas, apparently. For a week. And then he asked about university.”

"Did you tell him about the conservatory audition?" Phil interrupted. I shook my head. "No, I just told him that I got in to Manchester and that I was still waiting to hear back from a couple places."

"You’ll have to tell him eventually, right?"

"I guess. But I won’t until I know whether I got in or not. Because if I don’t get in, then there’s no point causing trouble."

"If you say so. But hey, it looks like we’re going on holiday! That will be fun, right? Seeing your grandma and all your aunts and uncles and cousins?"

"Sure, I suppose. You’ll come, right?" Phil nodded, and I began to feel a little more hopeful about the situation. "Although you need to remember, we don’t want them to see me, so I won’t be able to talk to you as much. But I’ll be there, of course."


	10. Chapter 10

The car ride to my grandma’s house takes three hours. It felt like three years. I sat in the backseat with my iPod and headphones, a notebook open on the seat next to me.

Phil sat on the other side, the notebook between us. Since I couldn’t talk to Phil in front of my dad, we passed notes like grade-school kids. We played I-spy, tic-tac-toe, and hangman. Phil would point out interesting cloud shapes, and I would notice which towns seemed the most likely to have terrible secrets.

No one said a word for the entire three hours.

 

After my mom died, I didn’t see my extended family very often. Occasionally dad and I would visit my grandma, his mother, for Christmas, but it didn’t happen every year. The last time I saw any of my relatives was when I was fifteen. That was two years ago now and I wasn’t really sure what to expect this year.   
We arrived around mid-afternoon. Dad headed into the big, old house ahead of me. I followed slowly, carrying my bag.

“I’m not ready for this,” I mumbled to Phil. “There’s going to be far too many grown-ups asking me about my life, and I don’t even know what to tell them.”   
“You’ll be fine,” I heard to my right, at full volume, even though I couldn’t see Phil. “They’re your family, they love you. It will be okay, Dan.” I nodded, not answering, and pulled open the battered screen door.

The cold wind slammed the door behind me, and the warmth coming from the kitchen called me further inside. I could hear familiar voices and young laughs, and I felt like I could almost smile. Family. They couldn’t be that bad, right?

“Is that Daniel I hear?” came my grandma’s voice from further into the house. I toed off my shoes, leaving my bag with my coat on a hook, and went up the half flight of stairs.

The kitchen was a warm yellow, my dad already sitting at the table with his brother, my uncle Steve. Two of my aunts, Jean and Katherine, were by the counter with glasses of wine in hand. Grandma was sitting at the head of the table already looking towards the doorway, right at me.   
“Hi, grandma.” Her arms were held out, and I walked right in to them. She pulled me down to her level, and I hugged her back.   
“Oh Daniel, you’re so tall! You’ve grown so much! How are you, dear? I haven’t spoken to you in ages. What’s new? How is school going?” Smiling, she released me, and motioned for me to sit in the empty chair to her left.  
“I’m good, grandma. School is going well. I’m taking my A-levels this spring.”   
“Good, good. What are you taking, dear? Have you applied to university yet? What are you going to study?”  
I forced a smile. This was going to be a very long afternoon.

 

After dinner, I brought my bag upstairs. There were four bedrooms on the top level. One was grandma’s, one was for my father’s brother Steve and his wife Jean, one for his sister, Katherine (whose husband, my uncle Joseph, couldn’t make it for Christmas because of a business trip), and then one for all of the grandchildren. There were four of us. I was the oldest, with Ben the next oldest, at twelve, his sister Emma, Aunt Katherine’s kids,who was six, and then the youngest, Charlie, who was four. My dad was staying in the lounge downstairs.

The kids had scattered after dinner, avoiding clean-up tasks at all costs. The adults had excused it as “kids being kids,” but I had been stuck helping, anyway. I didn’t mind. No one tried to talk to me while I was washing dishes.   
The upstairs bedroom was spacious, with a large queen bed and a pull out couch, along with a dresser with an old tv and VCR player on top. Ben had brought his Gamecube, and, as he and Emma had arrived the day before, it was already set up, a loading screen for Super Smash Bros playing on repeat.

Emma was the only one in the room when I got up there after dinner. She was sat in the middle of the bed, hands in her lap, chatting happily.  
“Mummy always says that gramma used to make her dresses. Can you imagine? Homemade dresses? Mummy doesn’t know how to use a sewing machine, but gramma says she’ll teach me when I’m bigger, she promised. Do you know how to sew? No? Maybe gramma can teach you, too. She’ll like you, I’m sure. Hi, Dan!” she looked up at me. There was no one else in the room.   
“Hey, Em. Who were you talking to?” She bounced a little on the bed, turning all the way around, and then a little more to face me straight on. “I’m talking to Carrie! She’s my best friend. Mummy says she’s just in my head, but I know she’s real. She talks to me all the time, and she’s very lovely.”

Could Emma have a guardian angel, too? What could have made her angel reveal herself so early? Or was it just Emma’s imagination, as her mum thought? “Can I meet her, Emma? Carrie?”

“I dunno, Dan. Carrie is very shy, shyer than everyone else. She doesn’t like to talk to other people.” Emma tilted her head, eyes going slightly unfocused. I wished Phil were here, at least where I could talk to him. Could my six year old cousin be having conversations with an angel?

“Hello, Carrie,” I heard Phil’s voice behind me. I spun around, and he was suddenly visible.

“Hello, Phil! It’s good to see you again!” On the bed beside Emma, a girl of the same age flickered into my vision. She was pale with big, curly blonde hair and had bold, brown eyes, and a happy smile. Her wings were spread behind her, pure white with flecks of gold. Carrie was the traditional idea of an angel, and she was beautiful.

“Hello, Dan! It is nice to properly meet you.” Emma’s smile now mirrored Carrie’s. “You can see her, too, Dan? I’m so glad!”

“Yes, I can see Carrie. Hello, Carrie, it is nice to meet you.” I sat at the foot of the bed, legs crossed, and Phil sat beside me, opposite Carrie.

“Mummy keeps telling me that Carrie isn’t real, but if you can see her, she must be real, right?” Emma’s eyes were wide and concerned.

“Of course Carrie is real. You can see Phil, right? He and Carrie are very alike. Not everyone can see them, but you can, and I can. They’re just as real as you and me.” Carrie and Phil had put their heads together, alternating murmurs. I tried to block them out. “But your mum, and my dad, they can’t see Carrie or Phil. And because they can’t see them, they get very upset if you mention them. So until your mum tells you otherwise, Carrie is your friend, your special friend, and your mum doesn’t need to worry about her, okay?” Emma nodded solemnly.

“Okay, Dan. But you and Carrie can be friends, right? And I can be friends with Phil?” I nodded, and Emma’s smile returned.

Carrie and Phil had stopped whispering to each other, and Carrie had leaned over to play with Emma’s hair. The two girls quickly resumed their chatter. Phil smiled at me. “It is nice to see Carrie, again, although I did not know Emma was aware of her.” Phil was leaning closer to me, and I put my head on his shoulder.

“Do you know why? Why Emma can see Carrie?” We were speaking softly, to keep Emma’s attention off of us.

“Yes. Emma was in a car accident with her father. He was fine, luckily, but if Carrie had not pulled Emma out the window, she would have died on impact. Emma of course saw Carrie, so Carrie stayed with her. Emma is very happy, as is Carrie.” I nodded, feeling my eyelids starting to droop.

Phil and I stayed quiet for a while, listening to Emma and Carrie chatter. The two girls spoke in a mix of English and their own language, which was entertaining to listen to. After a short period, Phil shook me off of his shoulder. He tapped Carrie’s knee, and after a smile to me, both angels vanished. I caught on pretty quick.

“So Emma, how is school going?”

“Um, it’s alright. My teacher Mrs. Smith is pretty nice, and she reads to us everyday. She does the voices right, too! Last year, Mr. Jones couldn’t do the voices right.” She looked a little confused that Carrie had vanished, but to her credit, she rolled with the conversation.

“Hey, Dan! Will you play Super Smash with us? Pleaseeeee?” Ben burst through the door, Charlie following behind. “Mum said that we can’t play unless you play.”  

“Yeah, I’ll play with you, Ben.” He cheered, and Charlie cheered, too.

“Can I play, Ben, please?” Emma whined. I got the feeling that her brother didn’t let her play with him very often, so I answered before he could. “Of course, Emma. It’s a four player game, and there’s four of us!” Ben didn’t look happy, but that’s okay. He still got to play his game, and we had sibling peace.

A few rounds in I found myself wishing that Phil was here, even just to laugh with—or at—me, as a twelve year old crushed me round after round. But it was still nice to spend time with my cousins, just having fun, not worrying about my dad or school or university or anything else for a while.


	11. Chapter 11

After mum died, Christmas had lost its excitement, its magic. The presents under the tree, when they were there, were no surprise and they weren’t special. Most of the time, my dad forgot to buy presents. I didn’t mind this too much; he was busy and I had enough pocket money to buy whatever I really wanted. But grandma minded, especially those first few years. When we didn’t go to her house, she would send me presents in the mail, new video games or books and a calendar.

This year when I woke up on Christmas morning, Emma was curled in to my side. I carefully extracted myself from the blankets and wandered downstairs.

Aunt Katherine was the only one in the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee.   
“Good morning, Daniel! Coffee?” I nodded, thanking her, and glanced around to see if anyone else was up. The tree was in the next room, and I didn’t really want to be the first one in there. I’d save that for one of the kids.

We were both quiet as the house began to wake up around us. The adults were all up before the kids, and the second pot of coffee was nearly gone before I heard Charlie’s excited shriek from up the stairs.

Three sets of little feet pounded down the stairs, running past everyone in the kitchen, aiming straight for the tree. I followed at a careful distance.

The Christmas tree was set up in the formal living room, which opened into the dining room where dishes were already set for Christmas dinner. The tree was decked in glowing golden lights, baubles and ornaments hung from every branch. On the mantle behind the tree, there were four stockings.

Charles, Emma, Benjamin, Daniel.

I was smiling widely as I walked closer. Ben was tearing wrapping paper off of everything with his name on it. To one side, he already had his calendar from grandma, a knit hat, a few books I couldn’t see the names of, and a remote controlled car.

Emma was helping Charlie find the presents with his name, sorting every present into piles. Emma pile, Charlie pile, grown-up pile, and a Dan pile.

I sat down on the footstool near my pile, and slowly opened the obvious calendar. It had little dogs playing instruments on it. Cute, grandma, I thought. Puppy calendar. All of the adults had trickled in, sitting on the couches and arm chairs, opening their own presents.

“Here you go, Dan!” Emma had brought over my stocking, candy canes sticking out of the top. “Thanks, Emma. Have you opened any of your presents yet?” She shook her head, brown hair flying around her.

“Nope, I had to help Charlie find his, first. I’ll go open them now.” She marched off with purpose, plopping between Charlie and her brother. Ben had already opened all of his presents, and Charlie was wrestling with the wrapping surrounding what looked like a box of Legos.

Behind us, the grown-ups were talking quietly, taking turns cooing over the little trinkets they had gotten each other. I caught grandma’s eye from across the room and, holding up the calendar, mouthed a thank you. She just smiled back at me.

It was strange, being surround by my family in a happy situation. Strange, but good. I could live with this kind of strange for a while.

 

The glamour of Christmas wore off very quickly. Within two days, Ben and Emma were spending every other hour yelling at each other, with Charlie often caught in the middle. Ben had already crashed his car into his mum’s ankle and he got it taken away. Emma had been caught talking to her “imaginary friend” one too many times, and her mum was considering therapy.

I wanted to say something about that, and almost did, but Phil hissed a sharp ‘NO’ in my ear before I could.

It was hard to talk to Phil, these days. There were so many people around and we could never get more than a minute or two alone. I missed him, his stupid smile and his laugh, a real, full laugh. We still passed notes with the notebook we had used in the car, though. I would write something in it when I got a chance, and the next time I would look at it, Phil would have left a message. It was like really strange texting.

The car ride back home was just as silent as the one to grandma’s house had been. Dad just stared at the road as Phil and I passed notes and played hangman in the back seat. As soon as we pulled into the driveway, I bolted up to my room with my bag. It was just after 5.

I shut the door with an unintentionally loud slam, and flopped on my bed. Phil had materialized himself on the bed next to me.

“That was the longest week of my life,” I groaned. Phil gave me a sympathetic smile.

“It wasn’t too bad, was it? You seemed like you had fun with your cousins. Your grandma was also very nice. She loves you a lot.”

“Of course she does, she’s my grandma, she doesn’t have a choice. But still, it was a long week. Ben got out of control at the end. He was yelling at his mum so much…” I trailed off as I sat up, leaning against my headboard, my usual spot. “Anyway, it’s done now. I can go back to not talking to anyone, ever.”

“Besides me, that is, right?”  

“Of course, you idiot. You don’t count.” Phil heaved an over dramatic sigh of relief, and I laughed.

“You should check the mail. You might have gotten an acceptance letter or something.” I didn’t move from my spot on the bed. “I doubt anything would come over the break. No one’s there to read applications. And besides, dad will set any mail I get aside, and I’ll see it next year.”

Next year. It was New Year’s Eve today, and I had no plans. Dad had probably already left for his work’s celebration at some fancy hotel in London. I had the house to myself, just me and Phil.

I took the next hour to put away everything from the trip to grandma’s. Laundry in the basket, toiletries in the bathroom, miscellaneous presents put in drawers and on shelves. Phil helped by hanging the calendar on the wall while last year’s (safari animals) got put in the recycling. It was now almost seven.

After double checking that dad had left, Phil and I went downstairs so that I could make dinner. I poured a bowl of dry cereal for us to share as the scrambled eggs I was making cooked.

The clock chimed eight as I washed all the dishes while Phil stayed in the living room, watching some dumb reality show that I had put on during dinner. It was just another night, really. We weren’t going to celebrate the new year, not that I would have even if Phil wasn’t here.

Nine, ten, and eleven struck while we were lying on the couch, my head on Phil’s shoulder as we watched MasterChef reruns. At quarter to midnight, Phil shook me awake. Waking up was disconcerting; I hadn’t realized that I had fallen asleep.

“Dan, get up. It’s almost the new year.”

I mumbled something about sleep, and it’s just another day, Phil, leave me alone. I was curled into his chest, eyes refusing to open. I hadn’t slept very well at my grandma’s house. Sharing a room with three kids wasn’t very relaxing, especially when they were all hyped up on sugar and Christmas energy.

“Come on, Dan. Up!” He maneuvered out from beneath me, and, grabbing my hands, pulled me to my feet. I pulled one hand free, rubbing my eyes, but kept my right hand connected to Phil’s.

“I’m up, I’m up. It’s not  _that_  exciting, Phil.” His eyes sparkled nonetheless, a smile spreading across his face.

“But it  _is_ , Dan! It’s the start of a whole new year! So much can change in a year, so much will be new this year!” Phil’s excitement was contagious and I began to smile, too. “How are you so excited about all of this? Haven’t you had, like, thousands of new years?” He just shook his head.

“I’ve never gotten to celebrate, though. I’ve never spent New Years anyone, besides Beth, although I don’t really count that, and now I get to spend it with you.” He sat down on the couch where I had just been sleeping, pulling me down with him. Our legs were pressed together, my hand still in his.

“Well, I don’t usually celebrate new years. I think I just slept last year.” Phil nodded, interrupting me. “You did. I was wondering why you weren’t out partying with your friends and getting drunk, like you had the year before.”

“They aren’t, and weren’t, I guess, my friends. They were just people I got drunk with.”

“I’m glad you aren’t friends, no, sorry, acquaintances with them anymore. They weren’t good for you.”

“They really weren’t. Apparently, I’m not very good at choosing who I spend time with. Besides you. And I didn’t really get a choice, with that.” Phil’s tongue stuck out as he smiled, and I stuck my tongue out at him. “Okay, but to be serious for a minute, I never really thanked you for that night. When you saved me. I got so mad at you, but looking back…thank you, Phil. Thank you for stopping me and sticking by me afterwards.”

“I could be cheesy and just say that it’s just my job—and it is, to be fair—but Dan, there’s no way I could have watched you hurt yourself like that. Even if I didn’t have an obligation to stop you, I would make the same decision again and again.”

The clock was beginning to chime the countdown to midnight. I felt something welling up inside of me. I had been feeling it for a while, several months, but I pushed it down, tried to repress it, and failed. Everything was bubbling to the surface.

Phil and I locked eyes, and I could swear I saw the same thing in him that I felt rising in me.

“Dan, I think… I think that there’s something I need to tell you.” I was leaning in towards him, as he leaned in towards me. “Can it wait a minute?” I breathed, our faces close together.

“I think you know what I’m going to say.”

“I might say the same thing.”

The clock struck midnight as our lips brushed, Phil’s hand free hand in the small of my back, my hand in his soft hair.

“I love you.”


	12. Chapter 12

As far as New Year’s celebrations go, I’d give this one five stars.

After we pulled apart, a full minute after the clock had finished welcoming the new year, we just kind of stared at each other, Phil with a stupid, wide grin on his face. I’m sure I had the same one.

“So what did you want to tell me?” I asked, breaking our silence.

“I think that I may be developing a romantic attachment to you. Scratch that—I have developed a very strong, romantic attachment to you.” My smile got wider. “That’s not how you’re supposed to say it, Phil.”

“Then tell me, Daniel, how would you say it?” I lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Well, I would start by telling you that you’ve become a very important person in my life. I enjoy being around you and talking to you and watching stupid cooking shows with you. And then I would tell you that perhaps, if we are both willing, I would really like to bring things to the next level, the romance level. And then I would kis-mpfh,” Phil stopped the word with his mouth, leaning in to me. The hand holding mine let go and moved to my hair, and my now free hand moved to Phil’s cheek, the other hand still in his hair. Our chests were pressed together, we couldn’t get any closer if we tried.

We didn’t get any talking done that night.

 

The next morning I woke up with Phil’s arms around me, my face pressed to his chest. His wings, glinting in the slight light from the edge of the curtains, were spread behind him, stretching out.

“Good morning, Dan.” His smile hadn’t changed from last night, elated and joyous and infectious. I smiled in response.“Morning, Phil.” I rolled on to my back, staying in Phil’s arms, and looked up at his face. His dark wings were peeking over his shoulder, and I reached one hand over to stroke his feathers.

We stayed quiet together for almost an hour, just enjoying being close. It was warm and soft there, comfortable and safe. I felt calmer than I had in months.

Eventually we forced ourselves out of bed, downstairs to the kitchen, and we sat on the counter sharing a bowl of cereal. Phil only had a few pieces, as he didn’t need to eat, but he enjoyed the taste.

We chatted a little, about school starting again tomorrow, about how much homework I have to do today, about when we were going to go flying again.

I didn’t expect my dad to be back until the evening, so after we finished breakfast I sat down at the piano. Phil was somewhere behind me, but I shut him out for a minute. Shuffling through some music, I picked something at random, and just played for a while.

It was good to play again. The last time I had played was before Christmas, and I hadn’t realized how much I missed it. The music filled my head, and I lost myself to it.

 

Somehow, Phil and I managed to avoid talking about what had happened on New Years for over a month. He still cuddled with me while I slept and we still kissed occasionally but there was no discussion of what we were, what we were doing. Maybe Phil didn’t want us to define it, what with him being an angel, and me not supposed to know that he even existed. And I think I was okay with it.  I mean, it’s not like there was anyone else we had to define it to, no one else knew Phil existed, so…

 

The week before Valentine’s Day, I came home from school and saw the previous day’s mail sitting on the kitchen table. Phil was chattering about what he had learned, sitting in in A-level French. Once he had finished my psychology textbook in early January, Phil had decided that he had a wonderful opportunity. Phil loved learning. He loved reading and listening to teachers, and learning everything he could. I don’t know how he did it, but it made him so happy.

The mail on the table was mostly junk mail, a bill or two, and a brown envelope. Addressed to me. Phil had stopped talking, noticing that my attention moved.

“Dan? What is it?” Wordless, I help up the envelope. “Is that…?” I nodded. It was from the conservatory.

I jumped up on to the counter, and Phil sat next to me. For a few minutes, I just stared at it. Phil grabbed my hand. “Just open it, Dan. Get it over with.” I nodded, but didn’t move for a minute.

“What if it says no?” I said in a small voice. “What if I wasn’t good enough? What if I was? What if they accept me? What would I even do at a conservatory? What do you do with that?”

“Dan. Just open the envelope.” Phil let go of my hand, and I took a deep breath. I carefully opened the flap of the envelope. Phil put a hand on my shoulder, and I pulled out the paper from inside.

“Mr. Howell, we are pleased to offer you a place…” Phil tackle-hugged me, pulling us off of the counter. I could feel tears creeping into my eyes, a hysterical laugh bubbling out of me. Phil started laughing, too, and within a minute we were both hugging and laughing, and I was crying.

“You did it, Dan! You got in!” I nodded, fruitlessly choking back tears. “I did, I did, I got in, oh my god. You were right, I got in, they want me there.” The hysterics were dying down, but Phil held me close. I clung to him.

“You did it. Congratulations, Dan, I am so proud of you.”


	13. Chapter 13

My eyes were closed beneath the bandanna Phil had tied over them. His hand pulled mine along, and I was focused on not tripping.

"Come on, Phil. Where are we going?" He just giggled, not stopping. Giggled! "You’ll see in a minute. Shush." I kept my mouth shut, trying really hard to frown, and failing.

Today was Valentine’s Day. I wasn’t sure if my blindfolded adventure had anything to do with that, but then again, Phil and I hadn’t said anything about the day at all. We hadn’t said much about anything involving  _us_. The whole relationship thing, trying to define it, justify it, work out how it could actually work, fell into my expertise of overthinking everything.

I tripped over something, a curb? A branch?

"Phil, please, can’t you tell me anything?"

"One more minute. We’re almost there." I sighed a big, huffy, breath. "Finally…" I muttered. Phil either didn’t hear me or ignored it.

Phil stopped me a minute later, hands on my shoulders.

"Alright, hold still." I froze in place, and felt Phil wrap his arms around my waist. I put my hands over his.

I think we were flying, my hair whipped around my face and my feet weren’t touching the ground, but Phil seemed so still. When my feet hit something solid again, Phil immediately pulled his arms away. “Alright, you can take the blindfold off now.”

I did so eagerly. When I opened my eyes, all I could see was clear blue sky, surprising for February, and all of London beneath us. We were on top of The Shard, the actual top, not just an observation deck. I immediately grabbed on to Phil. Nothing was between us and the edge.

Looking up at his face, there was a huge grin there. I grinned back. “This is incredible. We’re so high up!” Phil nodded, an arm sneaking around my waist. “Yes, this is the highest point in London. We’re above everything, all of the people, and school, your dad, the whole city. It’s just us up here.”

"Wow." I looked back out at the city. Everything seemed so far away, and so very small. I leaned into Phil as a gust of wind ripped past us. It was very cold up here, and the wind was a little scary. But it was nice, too. The cold made me feel alive, my breath visible in the air in front of me.

When we were back on the ground, sitting in Starbucks, me with a caramel macchiato, Phil stealing sips occasionally, I decided that it was time to have the talk.

"So, Phil…"

"Yes?"

"What are we doing?" Phil looked confused, and looked around the room. "We’re drinking coffee in a coffee shop, right?"

"That’s not what I mean, idiot. What are we doing? Like, what are we? We kiss and cuddle and hold hands, but what is this? Are we, I don’t know, dating? That’s such a cringey word but…” Phil’s eyebrows drew together, and he looked down at his hands.

"I knew we would have to have this conversation, but I did not want it to come so soon."

I took a sip of the macchiato, waiting for him to continue. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

"I know that you would like it very much if we were, as you said, dating. Or at least had a real name for what is going on between us. But there shouldn’t be anything going on with us. That isn’t supposed to happen, and I thought that maybe, if we didn’t bring it up, didn’t try and define anything, I could pretend that we’re dating. I could ignore all of the problems that would inevitably come with such a relationship between us. I could enjoy being with you, without thinking about the consequences, and the future."

"Phil," I interrupted, "what consequences? What problems? I mean, the only real problem is that no one else knows you exist, but that’s not too much of a problem. I introduce you to my dad as a friend, and then we’re all good."

"You don’t understand, Dan." He lowered his voice, leaning in. I mirrored his motion. "You’re human, I’m not. You’re going to live a long, full life, and of course I would love to be a part of it, but, in seventy or so years, we would have to part ways, and I don’t think I can do that. I don’t want to do that. You have changed me, Dan. In every way possible. After what happened with Beth, I did not want to care for another human, and so I didn’t. But with you, I can’t help but care for you, love you. I tried not to, for many years, as you grew up. When you were sad, angry, mourning, I cried for you. Every time that you would lock yourself in your room, to cry and scream into a pillow, I was there. Every morning you spent hungover, vomiting into the toilet, I was there. And I wouldn’t ask for anything different, I wouldn’t give it back for anything.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Dan. A full, human, life. With you."

I couldn’t breathe, I felt like I was suffocating. My heart was in my throat and tears were welling in my eyes. I blinked them away, trying to take a deep breath. I still felt like I couldn’t breathe.

"But, no, Phil you can’t. I can’t ask you to do that, no way. I’m not that special, and you have so much longer to live, so much to do, so many people to meet and so much to learn. I can’t let you do that, no. I love you," my voice had gotten scratchy, and very soft, barely more than a whisper, "and honestly, I would love to spend the rest of my life with you. That sounds like the best future I could ever dream of. But it doesn’t have to be, shouldn’t be, the rest of your life. That’s not fair."

"But it is fair, Dan. I don’t want to live without you. And it’s my choice. You aren’t asking me to do it, no one is. And I’ve been thinking about this for several months, it is my decision." My coffee was cold now. We’d been here for too long, and this wasn’t really a conversation to be having in the middle of Starbucks.

"Can we go home? I need time to think. This is a lot."

"Sure, Dan. Of course. But," he continued as I started to stand up, "can we decide what we are, first?" I sat back down. "I thought we had. We’re pretty obviously together, I think." For the first time since we had gotten to Starbucks, Phil smiled, standing up.

"Okay, now we can leave."

 

We didn’t talk about Phil changing until after it had gotten dark out and we were in bed.

Phil was sat up, his wings spread lazily behind him. I had my head on his lap, my feet up on the wall. Even though I was sure it looked ridiculous, it was comfortable.

One of Phil’s hands was combing through my hair, and I felt at peace. For a few minutes. “Dan, we should talk about what’s going to happen after you graduate.”

"Well, I’m going to go to the conservatory in the fall, right? So…that will happen in August."

"But what about this summer? Do you want to stay here with your dad? And then in the fall, are you going to live at school? What if you have a roommate?" I frowned. "Honestly? I haven’t really thought about it at all. I just know that I’m getting out of here in August." Phil had a sly smile, and it was growing. "What?"

"Lucky for you, I did think about it. A lot. And if you don’t mind living off campus, I have the perfect place."

"Wait, what?" I sat up, turning to face Phil. "You have a place? Like a house?"

"Well, it’s technically an apartment. But it’s just outside of London, only half an hour from the conservatory, and if you want…" I interrupted him, ignored all the logistical questions (where on earth did Phil get money for an apartment? And when?) and tried to comprehend what Phil was telling me.

"We could live together? Just the two of us? For real?" Phil nodded enthusiastically, and I could feel my grin stretch across my face.

"If you want to, yeah. I already have it, so even if you live on campus, we would still have a place that’s just for us." I threw myself at Phil, wrapping my arms around his neck. His arms came up almost automatically to wrap around me.

"Thank you, really. Yes, of course I want to live there. Our own apartment! Can we go see it? Tomorrow?" Phil laughed at my enthusiasm.

"I kind of want to keep it sort of a surprise until we move in."

"Can we move in tomorrow?"

"Dan, you’re still underage, you can’t just move out. Not without your dad’s permission, anyway. But after graduation? Like a graduation present?" I nodded, excitement bubbling inside of me.

"Yeah, okay. Graduation. That’s only, like, 4 months away. Phillll," I whined, "4 months is a long time." He just laughed, kissing my forehead.

"I’ll still be here, in the meantime. We live together, now. You’ll make it four months, I promise." He kissed my lips this time, and I could feel every worry I had about the near future melt away in a haze of Phil.


	14. Chapter 14

As unhappy as I was before Phil showed himself in my life was almost as happy as I was for the entire spring leading up to graduation. Sure, it wasn’t perfect. I had bad days. There were days where I realized that  _oh yeah, depression reoccurs_. And it sucked. But Phil caught on to those days pretty quick, and somehow he knew whether I needed a pep talk or a night of hiding in a blanket fort watching anime on Netflix.

In early March, I confirmed my acceptance at the conservatory, and declined housing. It took until two weeks before graduation, early June, for me to tell my dad. I hadn’t even told him that I was applying to a conservatory. He didn’t know what schools I had applied to, been accepted to, what I wanted to study.

“You need to tell him, Dan,” Phil said in late April over a bowl of cereal and my psychology notes. “He’s going to find out one way or another, and it would be better if you told him.”

I just nodded, trying to block out Phil’s voice. I knew what he was telling me, I had been telling myself the same thing since I got accepted. But I had an exam the next day, so dad would have to wait until later.

 

“Hey, dad?” Phil had practically kicked me out of my room and downstairs to the study. Dad was sitting at his desk, some official looking papers spread in front of him.

“Daniel. What is it?” He barely glanced at me before returning his attention to the papers in front of him.

“Um, I have some papers that I need you to sign. So that I can mail them in. Tomorrow.” Said papers were clenched in one hand, a pen in the other. The pen was a silly idea, of course dad had pens in his study.

“Of course. What are they for?” He had looked up again, holding out his hand for the forms. I handed them over.

“For school,” I almost whispered. Dad was reading them, and I saw his eyebrows shoot up.

“Daniel, these… This school, it’s a music school? What is this?” I kept my eyes focused on my socks. My left pinkie toe was sticking out of a hole.

“Um, yeah, it’s a conservatory. It’s where I’m going in August. I didn’t even think I’d get in, but I did, and they even gave me a scholarship.”

“A conservatory is not a real school. You won’t be able to get a job with a degree from this place.” I kept my eyes down. Blue, black, grey, brown, blue again. Phil always had mismatched socks. At least mine matched.

“I can get a job performing. Concerts, festivals, that sort of thing. There are one-off jobs, too. Weddings and holidays and parties. And it’s what I want to do.” I looked up briefly. His face had disappointment written all over it.

“Daniel, I can’t sign this. You don’t underst-”

“Don’t understand  _what_ , dad? Don’t understand that it’s gonna be hard to find a high-paying job as a musician? That it isn’t always steady and secure? I know all of that, I get it. But is it going to be worth it? Am I going to have a job I love and am passionate about? Yeah, I am. I’ll be happy, and it’ll be rewarding, and  _this is what I want to do_. I don’t want to work in an office in a cubicle. I would go crazy, I would be so unhappy. I don’t want to be a doctor or a lawyer or a businessman. I don’t want to do any of that. I want to play music, I want to perform.” I didn’t realize I had been shouting until the silence was ringing around me.

We were both silent for a minute. I had gone back to staring at the floor, at the hole in my sock.

“If it means that much to you…” Hope surged through me. I heard his pen scratch on the paper. “Thank you,” I mumbled, looking up just long enough to grab the papers he held out to me. The disappointment was still clear on his face. I practically ran out of the room.

 

The day before graduation, Phil was helping me pack all of my belongings. I still hadn’t seen the apartment, but I was still beyond excited. In just over twenty four hours, Phil and I would be at OUR apartment. And it would be just us, and school would be over, and it felt like I was about to turn the page on this chapter. Tomorrow I would walk across the stage in the auditorium, and then I would start my new life.

“Dan, did you want to pack all of the boxes under the bed?”

I looked over from my closet at Phil, kneeling by my bed. He had pulled out a box I hadn’t looked at in months, maybe more than a year.

I walked over slowly and knelt by Phil. Taking off the lid, I pulled out the picture frame on top. Mum, dad, and I sat in front of the Christmas tree at grandma’s house. I was five years old. Mum wasn’t sick yet, dad wasn’t overworking himself, and I was just a kid. We all had giant smiles on our faces.

It hit me in that moment that my mum wouldn’t be at my graduation. She wouldn’t be sitting next to dad in the crowd of parents cheering as their kids transformed into real adults.

Something splashed on the glass covering the picture, and in the moment it took me to realize I was crying, Phil had already pulled my head into his shoulder, wrapping his arms around me, and I let the tears flow.

“She would be so proud of you, you know that, right?” Phil whispered after a minute. “She would be so impressed with how wonderful of person you are, how kind and caring and funny you are. I’m sure she’s still looking after you, and she’ll be cheering for you tomorrow night.” I nodded, pulling away a little bit. I wiped the tears off of my cheeks with the back of my hand.

“Thanks, Phil. For everything.” He smiled, a little teary himself.

“I’m proud of you, too. Even though this year has been really hard for you, you made it to the other side. One more day and you’re there.”

One more day.

 

The auditorium where graduation was held was crowded and too warm. My stupid maroon hat kept almost falling off and all of the flashes from parents taking pictures was giving me a headache.

I wasn’t sure if my dad was in the crowd or not. I left the flyer with the time and location on the kitchen table a week ago, but just because it wasn’t there the next morning didn’t mean he was coming.

Hanson, Hertford, Horst, Howell.

I stood up, shaking a little bit. I walked across the stage, shaking hands with all of the important people in the school district and accepted my diploma.

As I sat back down, I saw Phil standing in the back of the auditorium, grinning his giant grin, and cheering for me. I smiled, really smiled, and I felt my heart lift. I was done, really done. I made it.

 

Phil held the door open for me as I entered his, no,  _our_ , apartment for the first time.

Wow.

I heard Phil follow me in and shut the door as I looked around, trying to see everything all at once. It was so spacious and open, and very Phil. None of the furniture matched, but it all worked. The dark wood table with multi-coloured plastic chairs, a grey suede sofa, a large tv on a metallic stand, and a giant pine bookcase full of books of all size and colour.

“What do you think?” Phil was still stood by the door. I turned to face him.

“It’s perfect. I love it.” He smiled. Walking past me, Phil headed around the sofa, grabbing my hand and pulling me behind him, and we went in to the kitchen.

“I’m glad you like it. Do you think we should make dinner? Or are you tired? We could start unpa-”

I stopped his words with my mouth, reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck. Phil’s hands wrapped around my waist before sliding up my back.

“Dan…” he murmured, but I shushed him, trying to kiss him again, but he pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” I pouted. Phil’s hand came up to cheek and I leaned in to it.

“Nothing. I just wanted to give you your graduation present.”

“I thought the apartment was the present?” He just shook his head slowly.

“No, not really. And it’s not just yours, you have to share it with me.” Still smiling, he pulled me over to the sofa. We sat down.

“So?”

“Do you remember the conversation we had on Valentine’s day?”

“The one where we finally decided that, yes, we are actually dating?”

“Well, a little before that. The one where I told you that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.” My heart leapt to my throat and I just nodded, wordless.

“I still want that, and I still mean what I said then. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Dan. I want to spend a full, human, life with you. And, if you’ll have me, I want us to grow up together, grow old together. I want to experience life, real life, and I want to spend every moment with you, every day. Dan, I want to be human. With you. What do you say?”

Phil had grabbed my hands, and I clutched at them.

“Are you sure, really sure? Phil, I don’t want you to regret this three, five, ten years down the road. I don’t want us to be old and for you to wish you could go on.”

“I’m positive. I want to do this, I’ve wanted to for months. But I didn’t want to decide it without you.” I just nodded, slowly at first, then more enthusiastically.

“It’s your decision really, but yes, I support it. I support you.”

Phil’s smile was radiant. He pulled his hands out of mine and stood up. As I stood up he pulled his shirt off, stretching his wings.I reached over to stroke one.

“Are they going to disappear?” I asked. The beautiful black and blue feathers sparkled gold in the light from the setting sun.

“Yes, they are going to go away. But my wings are a small price to pay.” I pulled my hand back.

“Are you ready?” I nodded slowly, unsure of what was about to happen. “Okay, stand back a little bit.”

I took a small step backwards, heart racing. Phil’s wings were still spread wide behind him, and they began to sparkle on their own. Phil’s eyes began to sparkle, too, the blue accompanied by gold glimmers.

It felt like a scene out of a movie. Phil was glowing, shining, and smiling so perfectly. He was beautiful, in this moment, more beautiful than I had ever seen him. His wings turned transparent, still sparkling, and then feathers started floating around Phil. I couldn’t help myself, and took a step closer. Phil reached out for me, and I put my hands in his. For the first time, his hands were warm.

A minute later, the feathers had disappeared, the glowing had stopped, and everything looked normal. My hands were still in Phil’s, and I don’t think I could have let go if I tried.

“It is done.” All of the emotions of the day burst as I released his hands to wrap my arms around him.

It was almost unfamiliar, hugging human Phil. He was warm, so very warm, and softer somehow. Although it was different, I was okay with it. This felt more natural. We were the same, now. Both soft, warm, humans.

“I love you, Phil.”

“I love you, Dan.”

Even his mouth was warmer, not that it had been particularly cold before. His hands were under my shirt against my back. I had one hand on his cheek, which had flushed slightly, and one in his soft, dark, hair. I barely noticed my shirt come off as Phil pushed us away from the couch, towards a door that I hadn’t explored yet.

Phil pulled away slightly, grasping my hand from his cheek and holding it tightly. He moved it to his chest. I could feel his heart beat, pounding, racing.

“You make my heart race.” I laughed at his cheesy line.

“You’ve been making my heart race since day one.” He laughed back at me. It was my turn to pull us towards the unexplored door. I had a feeling that there was a bed behind it.

“Dan…” I turned back to Phil. I hadn’t expected to hear hesitation. “Do you want this, Phil?” He nodded.

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure? You don’t feel pressured, do you? Or like you have t-”

“Phil. I want this. I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

I was right about the bed behind the door.

  
  


Watching Phil sleep was a new experience for me. Phil was always the one to watch me sleep, but I was okay with this change. He looked so relaxed, a small smile on his face. I wanted to see that face every morning for the rest of my life.

Waking up next to Phil in our apartment was a feeling I wanted to bottle and be high on for the rest of my life. It was warm and cozy, calming and wonderful.

We made breakfast together. Instead of sitting on the counter watching, I made Phil mix the eggs, which he managed to spill on the floor, and pour the coffee, which some how made it into the mugs. I didn’t let him cook the eggs, though. I didn’t really want a burned breakfast this morning, and I figured that we had plenty of time for that later.

The morning went by slowly, lazily. It wasn’t an irritating slow, like waiting for class to end. It was a comfortable slow, a slow where you never wanted it to speed up or end. We lounged on the sofa, coffee in hand, watching MasterChef. Eventually, after the third episode, I stood up, stretching.

“I should probably get the last of my things from dad’s house. And also tell him that I’m moving out.” The day before graduation, Phil had brought a couple of my bags, mostly just clothes and books, to the apartment, but I still had some things left at dad’s.

“Alright, just let me get dressed and we can head over there.”

I pushed Phil back down as he tried to stand up. “Nu-uh. You stay here. I think this is something I should do on my own.”

“If you’re sure…” I nodded.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay, then. I’ll be here when you get back. Probably in this exact spot, still watching MasterChef.”

I laughed, nodding, as I headed back to the bedroom to change.

Phil walked me to the door, giving me a quick peck on the lips before I opened the door. “I love you, I’ll see you soon.”

 

I flipped through the channels. MasterChef had been traded for some vegan cooking show, and I wasn’t terribly interested. Sports, Discovery, History Channel, news.

I paused on the news, turning up the volume. The train station near the apartment was shining in flashing red and blue. A train had derailed half an hour ago.

Leaning forward, I held my breath. Dan had left about an hour ago. Was that his train? Was he on it?

Three dead, dozens injured.

I was dressed and out the door within minutes.

 

There was yellow tape surrounding the train station, cops everywhere and several ambulances. I pushed my way to the front of the crowd that had formed.

“I’m sorry, no one gets past this point.”

I didn’t need to get any closer. I could see Dan’s still body from the tape boundary.

There were always too many boundaries between us. But this one, this one I could follow him across. And once you cross this one, there’s no turning back.

 

The Shard is the tallest building in London, one of the tallest in the world. Wind whipped my hair across my face as looked down at the city. It used to be the most beautiful city I knew. Now, it was tiny beneath me. So far away, so foreign.

Up here, clinging to the spire, it was easy to pretend I still had wings. The ground was a long ways away, but that was also how far away Dan was.

Dan.

I felt a smile grow slowly, hesitantly. He was close, I could feel him. I knew what I had to do.

Letting go, the wind whipped at my hair, my body, and, for the last time, I felt like I was flying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.


	15. Chapter 15

The sky was always clear blue, not a cloud in sight. Unless, of course, we wanted some clouds. Then we could mold them, like clay, and make them any shape we wanted.

It felt like a dream. In a way, it was a dream.

“It’s not real,” Phil tried to explain one day. “Nothing we ever do here is real. It might be entirely made up in your head, but there’s no way to know. There’s no end or beginning. It’s just existing, in your idea of paradise, forever.”

If asked to describe paradise, this was not what I would have described. On the other hand, given the opportunity, I would never leave.

Phil had his wings again, beautiful and dark and strong. I had my own wings now, too. They were lighter than Phil’s, a pretty brown with gold and white tips and highlights. They were beautiful enough to rival Phil’s, although I’m sure I would always prefer his.

We flew together all the time. I no longer worried about falling. Even though I had Phil to catch me before, now I could catch myself. I couldn’t fall. Every day we flew higher and higher, making up routines and dances in the air. Sometimes we just coasted, talking about whatever popped in to our heads. Every day, it was just Phil and I and the wide open sky.

An eternity wasn’t nearly long enough for this happiness.


End file.
